Old Drawing From When I Was Practicing Anatomy Or Something

Imagine this: a young, mighty king has just conquered some faraway regions in the East, so he and his men decide to celebrate one night.

Still a bit tipsy after the celebration, the conqueror goes to attend the dance competition held in his honor: the winner turns out to be a young eunuch of extraordinary beauty, praised generously and crowned by the king himself.

Seeing the two of them so close, the men and all the others start applauding from the stands, and they all start shouting in unison: "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

The king, amused, does not object: he smiles and wraps his arms around the beautiful dancer, whom he kisses gently on the lips among the cheers of his men.

No, I did not just come up with this. It's a small historical anecdote. And the king in question is none other than the GOAT Alexander the Great.

Will the world remember you when you fall?

Could it be your death means nothing at all?

(credit/art inspo: this absolutely GORGEOUS animatic that I can't stop thinking about for some reason

https://youtu.be/PBON_pKDtvU?si=_w1z4TWONn5CU0LQ

Also the quote is from les misérables)

"But if I were not Alexander, I wish I were Diogenes."

They're taking him away from me. Away from our bed, where he rested still next to me, to lay him onto a new, unknown one.

Why are they taking him away from me? What if he feels cold, trapped all alone in that pitch-black, bottomless bed?

What if he starts shaking, what if the words "I'm cold" suddenly fall from his angelic lips, and I'm not there to cover him up?

He needs warmth, he needs to be held tightly and caressed! But this time, they're not letting me sleep by his side.

Is he going to sleep a lonely, endless night without love?

Will that cold, hard wood be soft and warm enough for him?

(no because I just found this thing in my notes app from an old note I wrote at like 3am and now I'm crying and sobbing like??)

It's a perfect sonnet.

14 lines. 3 stanzas in ABAB rhyme, and a rhyming couplet at the end.

It starts off with each of them speaking a whole stanza. Romeo offering up a self depreciating metaphor (a pilgrim at a holy shrine, sinful for wanting to place a kiss on her hand), and Juliet returning it (it's not a sin for a pilgrim to touch the hands of a saint. Pilgrims and the saints hands can touch. )

Then they share a quatraine, keeping the rhyme and rhythm steady, the flirting turning even more overt. (Saints and pilgrims both have lips, yeah? Well, sure, for prayer. Well if a pilgrims hand can touch a saints hand, then their lips...)

Then they each speak half a couplet (the saints dont make the first move, but if its a prayer....well, here I am, praying....), and share their first kiss.

It's flirty and silly and a little irreverent, and they become more and more in sync as they speak.

This is a heightened, fantastical, almost reality bending moment. This is a moment where two lonely teenagers, one who is having her future decided without her and the other fresh from an unrequited rejection, feel the world shift around them.

And the foreshadowing sits at the end of stanza 3. This is an act of faith, but if it cannot be, it will turn to despair.

And I just. The craft of it. The poetry of it. How the form and the rhythm mirror the metaphor and mirror the emotion of it.

Hades II was created to make you bawl your eyes out at each (not so) subtle parallel with the first game while you're also crying knowing what happened to the old characters BUT not knowing how the story is going to end yet, you cannot convince me otherwise. Like, playing the first game was all laughs, giggles and challenges (and heartfelt moments too), but when I play the second one I'm filled with an inexplicable sense of longing and grief like what the hell. Where did the positivity go. The heartfelt vibes are still there, the game itself is awesome, but this is all so sad

I do, in fact, catch myself yearning for lost works quite a few times (always)

Aeschylus’ the myrmidons… when will you return to me…?

Well, time to ramble about the Iliad again even tho no one asked, yay! This time it's about language: there's one specific expression which I'm kind of obsessed with, and it's φίλη κεφαλή (phìle kephalè).

So, phìle is the feminine form of the adjective phìlos (the word where philtatos comes from), which obviously means "dear", "beloved": but by extension, in the Homeric language especially, it means "something that belongs to someone". Which actually makes sense because it's basically implied that if something belongs to someone, it has to be something dear to them. And this is mostly used with body parts (like, instead of saying "my hands", in Homer you'd find something along "the dear hands" and so on.)

And that's where kephalè comes in! The word literally means "head". In the poem there's a lot of talking about heads: chopped heads, disfigured heads, pierced heads, and so on. But many times, metaphorically, it can also mean "body" or "life". Why? Because, since the head is the most important part of one's body, it is the essential part in order to live. And of course it's "dear" to you, because otherwise you'd be dead.

So what happens if you put the two words together? You basically get an affectionate form of address, which could be translated to "my dear head", but most precisely "my dear life".

In the Iliad, when Achilles learns of Patroclus' death, he states to have loved him "like his own head" (kephalè is the word he uses), and right after, he refers to Hector as the man who killed his phìle kephalè...

Because the head is to the body what Patroclus is to Achilles: the most important and precious part of himself. And now that he's lost him, he feels as if Hector had killed a whole part of himself, the one that kept him alive. Because his head has been literally torn away from him.

Also in another passage he refers to Patroclus as ηθείη κεφαλή (hethèie kephalè), where hethèie basically means "sweet", "beloved", "worthy of honor". And once again the "head".

I'll stop rambling for now, but this stuff was just too beautiful not to be talked about?? (and for me not to hyperfixate over it)

Classics: What is Lost in Translation

There's a lot of discourse on the faithfulness of retellings, but today I want to talk about the sources themselves. A lot of us engage with the classics in languages that are far from the ones that they were originally written in, and to do so we must do so through translations.

Translators are incredibly skilled people. When it comes to Greco-Roman works, most of them are Classicists who have dedicated their lives to the study of these. But, we should remember that no translation is perfect, by virtue of being translated. What does this mean? It is very rare, even in languages that are related to one another (think Romance languages, like Spanish, French, and Italian) for a word to have a direct translation that carries over every meaning and connotation of the original. This means that while there may be an apt word to take the place of the original, certain meanings can be lost in translation, especially when translating literature, where the choice of word in itself is an artform that can convey much more meaning than what's evident (wordplay, implications, rhyme, etc.). A translation should convey all of the original meaning of the work being translated, but what is the best way to do this? Is it through coming as close as possible to word-for-word faithfulness as we can, or by taking some liberties in favour of trying to expressing what the original author conveyed? This is a question that has been a topic of debate for as long as translations have existed, and people are divided on the answer still. Personally, I stand at a middle ground: faithfulness to the text is important, but oftentimes, it can result in us missing a lot of meaning, so a degree of liberties taken is acceptable if it does result in conveying that meaning. Let's also keep in mind that translations can become dated overtime! Language evolves as time passes, and with it, the meaning of words changes. Such being the case, what conveyed a certain meaning to someone a century ago may no longer do so for the modern reader. This also why translation from an older form of a language to its modern one may result in a loss too. Are all translations bad, then? Not at all! If you want to engage with a piece of literature that isn't in your language, you can and you should! The classics are classics for a reason, and I personally believe that everyone should know these works because they're wonderful and there's so many incredible translations of them out there! So, mainly, I just want people to be aware that not everything that we see in a translation may be entirely faithful to the source; we may never know exactly every single thing of what Homer intended to convey, because we're not his original audience, engaging with his work at the time that it was written, and in the language that it was written. Some translations come much closer than others and are praised as much more faithful, and you can find a ton of discussions online where the virtues and faults of one translation vs another are compared. I would love for people to be encouraged to look into different translations of works that they enjoy, because it's fascinating to see the differences in choices made by one translation and another. Translation is an art in its own accord, it takes incredible skill, and when reading a translation we're not just engaging with the work of the original author, but with the interpretation of a certain translator — viewing the classics through their eyes.